


Complicated Tangents

by squidmemesinc



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, takes place after Oikawa injures his knee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3398432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m serious.” He bends over him and places a gentle, lingering kiss on his knee. “You’re always working too hard, and this time it got you in trouble.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Complicated Tangents

**Author's Note:**

> I realized a few weeks ago that I really like IwaOi and I've never written any? How dare I.
> 
> I'm trying to experiment with my writing just a little bit but I'm not sure if it's working. I'm kind of concerned I'm reverting back to my 2010 writing style, which was.... Unnecessarily wordy P:

It starts with Oikawa saying his knee hurts. He says to Hajime, “Iwa-chan, come kiss it better,” and he’s joking, because even though he’s spoiled and bratty, he’s not actually five years old.

But Hajime’s homework is frustrating him, and he wants to take a break, and Oikawa looks way more appealing the way he’s draped over his bed, propped up on his forearms with his head lolling back, brown locks brushing Hajime’s pillow.

He probably doesn’t even notice Hajime getting up (he fixed the squeak in his chair a while ago, after months of Oikawa complaining about how it was driving him up the wall) until he’s crouched on the bed, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of Oikawa’s injured leg. But then he looks up curiously, maybe a little apprehensively, as if he’s expecting to get hit for whining.

But Hajime just grips the edge of the knee support and starts tugging it down, trying not to let the reddening tips of his ears give him away. It’s stupid; sometimes all he wants to do to Oikawa is call him trash and smack him across the room, but other times he goes soft in the heart because he _does_ know him better than anyone else. Loves him more than anyone else. (Hates him more than anyone else too, but that’s a more complicated tangent.) The feeling is mutual, though neither of them say it. It’s just doesn’t seem right to say things that don’t need saying. (Or maybe they’re just too cynical to believe in things like love.)

Oikawa bends his leg, uncharacteristically quiet, but face tinged with the palest pink of blushes as Hajime slips the support off his foot and drops it on the floor. His hands are rough on Oikawa’s skin, one gently moving to the back of the injured joint, the other trailing down his shin.

“You’re an idiot,” Hajime says, not sounding very sincere at all. He’s looking at his leg, not his face. The two dark moles on the inside of his thigh. Tracing the scar he got from falling off his bike in elementary school with his eyes. His mother freaked out and said he had to wear a helmet, so in middle school when he started caring about how his hair looked, he never rode a bike again.

“So mean, Iwa-chan. Projecting your insecurities onto me, as usual.”

“I’m serious.” He bends over him and places a gentle, lingering kiss on his knee. “You’re always working too hard, and this time it got you in trouble.”

Oikawa shrugs half-heartedly, watching Hajime press another tender kiss to a particularly achy spot, as if he knows where they all are. Hajime’s breath warms it nicely, and he can imagine his lips melt the pain away. “I’m the captain, I should be able to do whatever I want.”

“You’re too reckless.”

“You like that about me.” More accurately, Hajime likes everything about him. (Hates everything about him too; the same complicated tangent).

Hajime looks up as he presses an open-mouthed kissed to another corner of Oikawa’s knee, meeting his eyes at last. He lets his tongue trace up a centimeter or so and sees Oikawa swallow, as subtly as he possibly can.

“Come here,” Oikawa says.

Hajime kisses another spot, but otherwise doesn’t move. “In a minute.”

Oikawa makes a little conflicted whine in his throat, narrows his eyes slightly but lets his head fall to the side.

Hajime moves his hands up. The bottom one know supports his knee, and the top one pushes up under his shorts, calloused fingertips resting on his thigh. He kisses again and again, scraping his teeth gently along the skin, licking here and there, tracing lines along Oikawa’s thigh lightly enough to almost tickle, but not enough to make him twitch.

Oikawa can only _stand_ another minute (Hajime can practically hear him counting to 60 in his head) before his impatience gets the better of him. “Come here,” he says again, this time with more urgency. “It’s better now. No pain at all, I promise. Use that big mouth of yours for something better already.”

Hajime bites the side of his calf, only a little hard, but Oikawa still jumps anyway and scowls. He’s pouting when Hajime moves up between his legs and starts kissing his neck.

“You’re mean, Iwa-chan.”

“I came up here, didn’t I?”

“Let me get you back and I’ll forgive you.” He says this as if he actually wants Hajime to stop. Hajime knows with 110% certainty that he doesn’t. Oikawa’s practically part rabbit, always accosting him whenever his parents aren’t home, or sometimes even when they are, claiming he can be quiet when they both know otherwise (and the lock on Hajime’s door sometimes pops open on its own).

Hajime sighs against Oikawa’s neck before pulling back. “It doesn’t have to be eye for an eye, you know.”

“You bit me!”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You’ve never complained before.” The slight indignant flush to Oikawa’s face makes him crack a smile.

“You bit me _maliciously_. Clearly a foul.” He hooks a finger in the neck of Hajime’s shirt and stretches the material, eyeing the front of his trapezius mischievously. ‘Nothing above the collar’ is their rule, though Kunimi’s discerning eye in the club room can sometimes make even that rule dangerous.

Hajime is a little tired of stalling (especially now that it’s not on his own terms; Oikawa’s brattiness might have rubbed off on him just a little), and he knows he won’t win against Oikawa when he’s bordering on petulance, so he relents. When does he ever really deny Oikawa anyway? Only when it’s actually bad for him.

He sits up and pulls his shirt over his head so the neck isn’t permanently pulled open (Oikawa has ruined at least two of his shirts this way), then he leans back down, offering the side that feels like it can endure a shark bite better.

Oikawa slips one hand into Hajime’s hair and the other under his arm to pull him down by the shoulder. Hajime finds himself bracing for pain, but after a moment’s pause (his eyes are closed and he might be clenching his jaw a little, but he realizes Oikawa’s watching him for this exact reaction) he feels gentle lips on his collarbone, a slip of tongue between wet lips.

He relaxes a little. Oikawa’s sucking at the skin, but gently, mimicking his earlier treatment of his knee. And Hajime thinks maybe Oikawa’s got the same soft spot in his carefully guarded heart for him that he does for Oikawa. He thinks of the times he’s seen Oikawa bare and broken down: when they were in elementary school, Oikawa told him his mother had forbidden him to see Hajime ever again because of a fist fight they’d been in the day before, even though they’d already made up; in Oikawa’s bedroom during middle school, after the match where Kageyama had replaced him, he was throwing shoes and books and volleyballs at the wall and yelling; last month, his face red and his eyes wet, but no tears escaping as he said he’d liked Hajime for as long as he could remember, sure this would be his first rejection, and the only one he truly cared about.

These are things he knows no one else has seen. No one has gotten anywhere near the real Oikawa Tooru.

Oikawa finishes the mark off and punctuates it with a gentle bite. He starts brushing his lips along Hajime’s neck, pinching his lips together to press brief kisses along his jugular. He breathes against his jaw for a moment, and before he can say anything snarky (“See, Iwa-chan? I’m so much nicer than you.”), Hajime nudges him down against the pillow and seals their lips together.

Oikawa’s quick to make a soft little noise, pleased to finally get what he wants. He’s a vocal kisser, vocal during sex, which is wholly unsurprising, given the way he always acts. He hums and opens his mouth, flicking his tongue across the back of Hajime’s teeth. Hajime catches his tongue and sucks on it, and Oikawa tightens his grip in his hair, pulling him closer. He rolls his hips lazily up against Hajime’s and Hajime hears himself grunt as he grinds back down on him.

He could almost do nothing but kiss Oikawa for hours, until his lips were red and raw. He’s good, and Hajime tries not to think about _how_ he got so good (but is almost consoled by the fact that Oikawa promises him there were never any other _guys,_ and he never cared about any of the girls), but he appreciates it anyway. He won’t admit how much he likes kissing him, because Oikawa has a big enough head as it is, and would probably never stop reminding Hajime that he complimented him. So he keeps it to himself, because he still gets to taste Oikawa’s soft lips. He tastes like the strawberry chapstick he always uses, and today, like the shortbread cookies he stole from Hajime’s pantry an hour ago.

Oikawa moans into his mouth and moves one hand down to grab Hajime’s ass, crushing their hips together, trying to get as much friction as possible between them. Every time they do anything like this, Hajime always finds himself thinking ‘ _This is enough. If it’s him, I could get off this way._ ’ But Oikawa always wants more, and that’s fine too.

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa mumbles against him. It’s unusual for Hajime to hear the name when Oikawa doesn’t want anything, or want to make fun of him. He nips at Oikawa’s lip and kisses him hard, shifting his body so they can fit themselves together better. Oikawa clamps his uninjured leg around Hajime’s thigh and presses up into him. Hajime can feel that he’s almost completely hard, which just fuels his own passion.

Oikawa’s sneaking his hand between them, though he doesn’t still his hips or his mouth, going for the fastenings on Hajime’s pants first (his rabbit genes are trying to get into Hajime’s denim jeans). His dexterity seems challenged by the fact that both of them are moving, so he stops for a second, though his dick is throbbing in his pants and Oikawa keens after him, still fumbling with his button.

Hajime figures they’re going to have to stop anyway to get rid of their pants, at this rate, so he breaks away from Oikawa and undoes his pants by himself.

“I almost had it,” Oikawa says, a little breathlessly. But he looks like he’s enjoying the show of Hajime stripping off the last of his clothes. Hajime thinks he could speed along the process by taking of his _own_ pants, but then he knows that Oikawa wants him to do it for him (and he kind of wants to too). So he does, slipping them down carefully over Oikawa’s injured knee before dropping them with the knee support and his own pants.

While he’s at it, he reaches under his bed for a condom and lube (he keeps them in an ASICS shoe box so his mom won’t find them). He puts them on the bed next to Oikawa even though he knows that’s a good way for them to end up underneath him and moves to settle between Oikawa’s legs again, but he looks confused.

“Aren’t you gonna…?”

Hajime straightens. “Now?”

Oikawa gives a wry smile, which is close to genuine but still a little condescending. “I don’t know how you ended up with more stamina than me,” he says.

“Says the guy who can do, like, four hundred serves in a day.”

“That’s only if you stop me. Anyway, less talk, more action.” He fumbles next to his head for the lube and passes it to Hajime, who accepts it, pops the cap, and pours a bit onto his fingers. Oikawa shifts under him, propping his hips at the best angle, hands roaming under his own shirt, tongue poking out from between his lips playfully.

He has no shame at all, and Hajime is still feels the slightest bit embarrassed to be fully naked around him (even though he has been many times before, though it was when they were younger and not romantically involved at all).

Hajime spreads the lube out over his fingers, hoping to make it less cold, and moves down over Oikawa, supporting himself on one arm as the fingers on his other hand find Oikawa’s entrance. He pushes a finger in slowly, nudging his face between Oikawa’s head and shoulder. Oikawa sighs, moves his head back, urging Hajime to attend to it. He shifts his hips down, as if one isn’t enough for him, so Hajime drives it in deeper, curling up, and he practically purrs.

“Who would have known one of your only skills would be fingering boys, Iwa-chan?”

“Am I mistaken, or did you just compliment me?” Hajime shoots back, nipping at the skin of Oikawa’s neck lightly. He adds another finger, anticipating sass, and stretches his fingers apart.

“Mm! Well it’s hardly marketable.”

“I don’t need it to be marketable if I’ve already got a buyer.” He pumps his fingers in and out a few times, curling them up. He knows if Oikawa doesn’t react, he’s holding it in. He looks up to watch his face for signs.

There’s a distinct flush along his cheeks and creeping up his neck, but he holds one of his usual smiles to his face. When Hajime nudges his prostate again, the smile wavers a bit, and Hajime grins. “Nice comeback. Seven out of ten.”

Oikawa squirms just a tiny bit, hips twitching and breath coming just a little fast through his nose. Hajime draws out and works a third finger in, shoving in quickly at the same angle and Oikawa grabs his shoulder. Hajime chuckles.

“Hush,” Oikawa hisses. “Faster.”

Hajime obliges, making deep thrusts with his hand, knowing that as much as Oikawa likes this part, he loves what comes after more, and with everything his is impatient for the next. His own cock aches for friction, and Hajime is sure that half the reason Oikawa is clutching his arm is so he can resist touching himself. Oikawa never likes to be the first to come, as if his competitive nature extends to even this area of his life. One day, Hajime will try to convince him that it doesn’t have to be a contest, but perhaps not today.

“That’s good,” Oikawa says after another minute or so.

“It hasn’t—”

“Iwa-chan, it’s good now.” He fixes Hajime with a serious look, and Hajime draws his fingers out.

“This is what I mean about being reckless, Trashkawa.” The insult has no real force behind it, because he’s aching. Not that he doesn’t care, but they’ve done more with less preparation before and it’s worked out okay.

“I’m not! Cross my heart.” And he does. Then he reaches up for the condom and hands that to Hajime as well.

Hajime relents, as always, opening the packet and rolling the condom on. Oikawa looks way too pleased with himself, and releases his arm to clutch at his own shirt as he waits for Hajime. He positions his knees over Hajime’s shoulders, gingerly on the injured side, still smiling in the face of Hajime’s concerned look.

“Is this going to be okay?” Hajime asks.

“It’s fine. Stop worrying.”

“If I don’t worry about you, who’s going to?” He thinks he has a pretty valid point.

“Leave it to my mom. Your job is just to fuck me.”

Hajime goes red in the face. “I can do both,” he mutters, but he positions his tip at Oikawa’s entrance and starts to push in. Oikawa’s drawing in breath, looking pretty flushed himself. He curls one hand around Hajime’s wrist, and Hajime gets the point and lifts his hand to lace his fingers into Oikawa’s and press it down by his head. He’s all the way in, and Oikawa releases his breath and makes a tiny pleased noise.

“You good?” Hajime asks after a second.

“Getting impatient?” He thinks he feels Oikawa squeeze his hand briefly.

“You’re the impatient one.”

“We can both be impatient,” Oikawa coos at him. Hajime rolls his hips, making him gasp. “ _Hajime, more_.”

It sends a thrill up Hajime’s spine to hear his first name slip from Oikawa’s lips, even though he was the one who said they should stop calling each other by their first names after middle school. He’s pretty sure there is only a very short list of things he’s ever regretted more, although if he were asked to conjure any of them up, he’s not certain that he could. Oikawa had looked at him like he had slapped him, and Hajime had almost immediately started backtracking, but Oikawa took it to heart.

Whenever it slips out, though, Hajime gets shivers, both good and bad. It’s only ever in tension or intimacy, and it’s probably clear which he prefers.

“Tooru,” he murmurs quietly into Oikawa’s ear as he thrusts shallowly into him. He wonders if it feels as delicate for Oikawa to hear as it does for him to say. The following moan might be a little more passionate.

Oikawa’s moaning, feeling the full effects of this deep angle, pressing his cheek to Hajime’s. His free hand goes to his own cock and he strokes, slowly, denying himself the pace Hajime suspects he wants (he must be some kind of masochist, Hajime swears).

After deepening his thrusts, he’s panting into Oikawa’s ear after a few minutes. Desperate for a kiss, he steals Oikawa’s mouth from his unrelenting whines and whimpers, feeling himself already losing the “contest” he doesn’t even feel like he has to play. But he knows Oikawa’s not far behind him; he never is.

Oikawa sucks Hajime’s lip into his mouth, clamping down with his teeth perhaps a little harder than he might have meant to. He bites more when he’s close, confirming what Hajime was already thinking. He quickens his pace a bit, which only makes Oikawa louder.

Breaking away from his mouth, he moves up to kiss Oikawa’s temple, his forehead, tasting the tang of the sweat that lightly coats his skin and matts his hair.

Hajime starts to feel the pressure mounting in him, hears Oikawa moaning more desperately, mumbling his name once or twice more. He’s not sure if he’s squeezing Oikawa’s hand or if Oikawa is squeezing his, but either way, someone’s grip tightens when Hajime comes and thrusts erratically into him. Oikawa is just barely holding out, but as Hajime rides out his orgasm, he releases with a sharp groan.

Arms shaking slightly from holding himself up, Hajime pulls out. He carefully moves Oikawa’s legs off his shoulders and moves out from between them to dispose of the condom. But then he moves back to the bed again to curl up around Oikawa, who turns towards him and presses his forehead to Hajime’s bare chest. They lay there for a moment, the threat of afterglow-induced sleep palpable.

“M’ dad’s gonna come home eventually,” Hajime murmurs, willing himself to stay awake. “We’ll have to get dressed.”

“Just give me…two minutes.” He yawns.

 _Yawns are dangerous_ , Hajime thinks absently. He doesn’t move for another five minutes, and he thinks Oikawa might actually be unconscious.

Summoning an incredible amount of willpower, he disentangles himself and lethargically pulls his clothes over his body, then turns to the half-naked Oikawa on his bed. With a sigh, he picks up Oikawa’s shorts and after a few minutes of struggle and Oikawa shifting in his sleep, manages to make him decent.

Maybe it’s weird to sleep in the same bed as your best friend, but Hajime and Oikawa have for as long as Hajime can remember. Some things stay the same, but others change, and Hajime is glad for both. He can’t imagine a scene he doesn’t share with Oikawa.


End file.
